I'm the kind of person who, if a friend mentions a book that he or she is reading, I'll read it, too, so we can talk about it together. That's always my hope, anyway.
Once I slogged through an 1,100-page biography of American actress Lilian Hellman because a friend said she was reading a biography of Hellman. It didn't quite work out as I thought, though. The book I got from the library was a biography of Hellman, but, unfortunately, it wasn't the same biography as my friend was reading. Imagine being famous enough to have two fat biographies written about you! Anyway, we never did discuss it.
Then there's my Spanish-speaking friend. "I'm reading Robinson Crusoe," she announced one day. "I've already read it in Spanish, but now I'm going to read it in English."
Wanting to encourage her, I said, "That's great! It's been a while since I've read it. I'll read along too and then we can discuss it!"
As this was a relatively non-busy time for me, I whipped through the library copy fairly quickly--a week or less. I was ready to discuss!
"How are you coming along with Crusoe?" I asked one day shortly after that. Well, now that school was back in, it was a relatively very busy time for her as she was taking six courses, and Robinson Crusoe was left on his island by himself. Another book I never discussed!
Now it's summer again, a time for relaxing and, yes, reading the afternoons away. Having abandoned Crusoe, my Spanish-speaking friend is braving Wuthering Heights. This time, I didn't have to run to the public library to get a copy. Right during our Skype conversation, I pulled my own copy off my bookshelf, noting that I had read it during a fourth-year Women and Literature course in the Spring 1996 semester. Fourteen years ago! No wonder the details were foggy!
I promoted it to my bedside table and am making my way across the heath and cliffs. Last MSN conversation I had with my friend, I casually asked, "How are you making out with Wuthering Heights? I'm on page 48."
"Ahhhhhh!" she shrieked. "I haven't even got my copy yet."
Is this another not-to-be-discussed book? I hope not because my copy is a veritable rainbow of highlighting--blue for the supernatural (devil, angels, hell, heaven), yellow for banishment or exile, orange - Nelly, pink - forgiveness, and green for references to the landscape. Such a shame to let all that work go to waste! I'm not sure if the discussions will ever take place, but I'll keep on reading, just in case.
Tonight, I was talking with a friend whom I haven't seen for more than 30 years, but who recently reconnected with me. You guessed it. She mentioned a book she's reading: Why I'm Not a Calvinist. "Ah-ha!" I pounced. "I have the companion volume, Why I'm Not an Arminian. You read yours, and I'll read mine, and then we can talk about them."
Even as I said these words, I was reminded of some verses in James:
Come now, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit"--yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, "If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that" (James 4:13-15).
As a strong believer in the sovereignty of God, I rephrase: "You read yours, and I'll read mine, and then we can talk about them . . . if the Lord wills."
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Folly
All over, in many cities and towns across North America, this weekend was a soccer weekend. No, I’m not talking about the FIFA World Cup. It was something on a smaller scale—thousands of kids played in outdoor soccer leagues during May and June, and this weekend was the tournament weekend.
Parents and grandparents ferried their kids and grandkids to the fields, watched them play, cheered them on, and proudly took photos of the kids receiving their medals. For the younger ones, participation is rewarded, with everyone on every team getting the same medal. For the older kids, they are out there hustling for the gold, silver, or bronze!
Such an event takes lots of planning, and I salute those who did such a great job. Coaches, too, deserve a round of applause for dedicating at least two evenings a week for two months to helping the kids develop their skills and encouraging team play.
Of course, with hundreds of kids gathered for hours on end, there need to be “facilities.” And there were. Johnny was On the Spot, and made use of during the day. It was hot; the kids are running hard and drinking lots of water. You see my point.
It being the weekend, however, those companies that supplied the Johnny on the Spot facilities were not available to collect them after the tournament was over on Sunday. I guess workers will arrive on Monday to do that job.
Where is the folly that the title alludes to? Well, this afternoon I saw several young people (teens) do something foolish. They were crossing one of the school yards where the soccer tournament had taken place. On seeing the Johnny on the Spot that was waiting to be removed, they took matters into their own hands and tipped the small grey building over. This was accompanied by pushing, shoving, and lots of laughter. They quickly went on their way and disappeared from the field.
When those teens arrived home, and their parents asked them what they had been doing that afternoon, my guess is that they did not tell their parents about what they had done. Probably their parents would not have been amused.
Neither will the workers who arrive at the field on Monday to pick up their cargo. Johnny is no longer on the spot where it had been installed.
Parents and grandparents ferried their kids and grandkids to the fields, watched them play, cheered them on, and proudly took photos of the kids receiving their medals. For the younger ones, participation is rewarded, with everyone on every team getting the same medal. For the older kids, they are out there hustling for the gold, silver, or bronze!
Such an event takes lots of planning, and I salute those who did such a great job. Coaches, too, deserve a round of applause for dedicating at least two evenings a week for two months to helping the kids develop their skills and encouraging team play.
Of course, with hundreds of kids gathered for hours on end, there need to be “facilities.” And there were. Johnny was On the Spot, and made use of during the day. It was hot; the kids are running hard and drinking lots of water. You see my point.
It being the weekend, however, those companies that supplied the Johnny on the Spot facilities were not available to collect them after the tournament was over on Sunday. I guess workers will arrive on Monday to do that job.
Where is the folly that the title alludes to? Well, this afternoon I saw several young people (teens) do something foolish. They were crossing one of the school yards where the soccer tournament had taken place. On seeing the Johnny on the Spot that was waiting to be removed, they took matters into their own hands and tipped the small grey building over. This was accompanied by pushing, shoving, and lots of laughter. They quickly went on their way and disappeared from the field.
When those teens arrived home, and their parents asked them what they had been doing that afternoon, my guess is that they did not tell their parents about what they had done. Probably their parents would not have been amused.
Neither will the workers who arrive at the field on Monday to pick up their cargo. Johnny is no longer on the spot where it had been installed.
Monday, June 7, 2010
One True Sentence
A friend was staying with me this weekend. She’s a writer, with 16 fiction and non-fiction books to her credit, plus hundreds of articles and short stories, some of which have been anthologized. She teaches writing workshops to school children as well as to adults.
She was telling me that, over the years, she’s had 38 jobs. Some lasted only one day. Her last job lasted for 12 years. Once, she up and quit her job, called up her travel agent, and said she wanted an adventure. She got one: on his advice, she, her husband, and their two daughters left Canada for a year to live in Australia.
She has what I call a “spirit of adventure.” Not only does she do many different things, she mines each experience for the most it can give her. She meets people, talks to them, takes a genuine interest in what they do and in their lives, and then composts all those experiences into fertile soil for her writing.
She’s a great story-teller. Story after story, one leading right to another, the words rush out of her mouth, putting the listener in the middle of the scene. With all her adventures as foundation, she has many tales. Yarns they might have been called in another era. But they’re something more than that. They’re art.
Art? Yes, art. Life happens. Life is messy. It’s the unexpected, the unexplainable, the unpredictable. Life is definitely not art.
Art, on the other hand, is Life Arranged. The medium doesn’t matter. We compose a photograph, moving over slightly to avoid the appearance of a tree branch sticking out of someone’s head. A painter arranges and interprets a scene, adding something here, removing something there to make a harmonious whole. Even a portrait that looks the very likeness of its subject is the result of an artist’s mind and hand working in concert to interpret the face, the posture, the body language, the light, the shadow. A writer, also, arranges: time, events, moods, accidents, coincidences, and a cast of characters to tell the story.
I’ve been inspired! I want to rev up my spirit of adventure. This doesn’t mean I’ll be taking off for Australia any time soon, but I want to soak up all I can from the experiences I have. I want to gather raw material and put it into the composter. I want to remember the details—colours, smells, sounds, faces, postures—so when I tell a story, it’s true.
Even if it’s not exactly the way it happened, it will still be true.
She was telling me that, over the years, she’s had 38 jobs. Some lasted only one day. Her last job lasted for 12 years. Once, she up and quit her job, called up her travel agent, and said she wanted an adventure. She got one: on his advice, she, her husband, and their two daughters left Canada for a year to live in Australia.
She has what I call a “spirit of adventure.” Not only does she do many different things, she mines each experience for the most it can give her. She meets people, talks to them, takes a genuine interest in what they do and in their lives, and then composts all those experiences into fertile soil for her writing.
She’s a great story-teller. Story after story, one leading right to another, the words rush out of her mouth, putting the listener in the middle of the scene. With all her adventures as foundation, she has many tales. Yarns they might have been called in another era. But they’re something more than that. They’re art.
Art? Yes, art. Life happens. Life is messy. It’s the unexpected, the unexplainable, the unpredictable. Life is definitely not art.
Art, on the other hand, is Life Arranged. The medium doesn’t matter. We compose a photograph, moving over slightly to avoid the appearance of a tree branch sticking out of someone’s head. A painter arranges and interprets a scene, adding something here, removing something there to make a harmonious whole. Even a portrait that looks the very likeness of its subject is the result of an artist’s mind and hand working in concert to interpret the face, the posture, the body language, the light, the shadow. A writer, also, arranges: time, events, moods, accidents, coincidences, and a cast of characters to tell the story.
I’ve been inspired! I want to rev up my spirit of adventure. This doesn’t mean I’ll be taking off for Australia any time soon, but I want to soak up all I can from the experiences I have. I want to gather raw material and put it into the composter. I want to remember the details—colours, smells, sounds, faces, postures—so when I tell a story, it’s true.
Even if it’s not exactly the way it happened, it will still be true.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Cheap at Twice the Price!
I received some advertising today from a national (maybe inter- or multinational) company that sells a variety of electronics goods and gadgets. Not being important enough for a cell phone and not owning an iAnything, I don’t often shop at this store, but today, something in the ad caught my eye.
The price wasn’t too high, only $79.95. Oh . . . then I saw the small print: on a 3-yr. term ($399.95 no term). Hmm . . . well, that upped the ante quite a bit, but still not too far out of reach.
The paragraph describing the item was sprinkled with words with the TM (Trade Mark) beside them, words that even my Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary, 11th edition, doesn’t carry. I guessed that DEXT had something to do with text, and MOTOBLUR—this sounded a bit negative to me, as if I wouldn’t want it, but apparently, it must be something excellent as it was mentioned twice in the small paragraph, once preceded by the word Only.
The photo showed what I’ll call a two-layer cell phone, a cell phone with a little sliding tray with a mini-QWERTY keyboard. It claimed to be a smartphone, Bluetooth compatible, with a 5 mp camera, capable of sending and receiving e-mail, media-ready, Internet-ready, and Wi-Fi ready.
Now I must admit that I have been a bit left behind in the electronic revolution. Once a few years ago, I thought I was ahead, but now I know I’m not. I’m running pretty close to the back of the pack.
I wasn’t interested in this ad because I think I need a cell phone. No, no! And I have a camera already and a cheap mp3 player, the name of which does not begin with “i.” If I want to send or read my e-mail, I actually sit down in front of my computer at work or at home and compose or read my messages.
No, I was interested in what this smartphone promised to bring to my life, beyond the fact that I’d have “no apps to open and no menus to dig through.” No, I was interested in only one thing.
It’s something that I’ve worked hard all my life to achieve, and yet, it still seems to elude me. I’ve put in lots of effort, sometimes some money, and plenty of time over the years. I’ve spent hour upon hour talking on the phone to friends and family, helping them through crises of one sort or another. I’ve stayed up all night on occasion, more than one, to comfort a friend. I’ve carried on thousands of conversations with myself in my head, practicing what I’d say in certain touchy situations, so it would come out right and wouldn’t offend. I’d worked hard, and now, I was confronted with the upsetting news that I could have saved myself the trouble. For a mere $400 less loose change, I was being promised something I’d been on the qui vive for all my life.
Instant social gratification. Yes, that’s what this ad promised, as incredible as it may sound! Doesn't that seem like the answer to world war, world peace, global warming, global cooling, climate change, environmental degradation, and all the other ills of this world? Think of those three words separately--instant . . . social . . . gratification—and now put them together for a powerhouse expression—instant social gratification. Who wouldn’t want this?
For $400, sign me up!
The price wasn’t too high, only $79.95. Oh . . . then I saw the small print: on a 3-yr. term ($399.95 no term). Hmm . . . well, that upped the ante quite a bit, but still not too far out of reach.
The paragraph describing the item was sprinkled with words with the TM (Trade Mark) beside them, words that even my Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary, 11th edition, doesn’t carry. I guessed that DEXT had something to do with text, and MOTOBLUR—this sounded a bit negative to me, as if I wouldn’t want it, but apparently, it must be something excellent as it was mentioned twice in the small paragraph, once preceded by the word Only.
The photo showed what I’ll call a two-layer cell phone, a cell phone with a little sliding tray with a mini-QWERTY keyboard. It claimed to be a smartphone, Bluetooth compatible, with a 5 mp camera, capable of sending and receiving e-mail, media-ready, Internet-ready, and Wi-Fi ready.Now I must admit that I have been a bit left behind in the electronic revolution. Once a few years ago, I thought I was ahead, but now I know I’m not. I’m running pretty close to the back of the pack.
I wasn’t interested in this ad because I think I need a cell phone. No, no! And I have a camera already and a cheap mp3 player, the name of which does not begin with “i.” If I want to send or read my e-mail, I actually sit down in front of my computer at work or at home and compose or read my messages.
No, I was interested in what this smartphone promised to bring to my life, beyond the fact that I’d have “no apps to open and no menus to dig through.” No, I was interested in only one thing.
It’s something that I’ve worked hard all my life to achieve, and yet, it still seems to elude me. I’ve put in lots of effort, sometimes some money, and plenty of time over the years. I’ve spent hour upon hour talking on the phone to friends and family, helping them through crises of one sort or another. I’ve stayed up all night on occasion, more than one, to comfort a friend. I’ve carried on thousands of conversations with myself in my head, practicing what I’d say in certain touchy situations, so it would come out right and wouldn’t offend. I’d worked hard, and now, I was confronted with the upsetting news that I could have saved myself the trouble. For a mere $400 less loose change, I was being promised something I’d been on the qui vive for all my life.
Instant social gratification. Yes, that’s what this ad promised, as incredible as it may sound! Doesn't that seem like the answer to world war, world peace, global warming, global cooling, climate change, environmental degradation, and all the other ills of this world? Think of those three words separately--instant . . . social . . . gratification—and now put them together for a powerhouse expression—instant social gratification. Who wouldn’t want this?
For $400, sign me up!
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